


Sentimental

by ProcrastinatingPalindrome



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, speculation on victor's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingPalindrome/pseuds/ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: Victor wants to ask Yuuri to marry him and needs some advice. Yakov is perhaps not the best person to go to for that advice (or perhaps he is the best man for the job after all.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write fluff about Yakov being Victor's reluctant cranky father figure for ages. I also wanted to write more Victuuri, and speculation about Victor's past. So I decided to do it all in one! Enjoy!

The opening notes of _Stammi Vicino_ suddenly rang out through the calm evening air of Yakov’s apartment, nearly causing the old man to spill his coffee. He glared at his phone, which vibrated innocently on the table as the music continued to play and INCOMING CALL: VICTOR NIKIFOROV flashed on the screen, accompanied by a picture of his aggravating student grinning cheekily and posing with his latest gold medal.

Yakov scowled at the picture. He’d forgotten to get rid of all that nonsense. Victor had stolen his phone to change the ringtone and picture after his last Grand Prix, something he did after every one of his major wins ever since Yakov updated from his ancient flip phone to a needlessly complicated ‘smart’ device. Too proud to admit that he had no idea how to undo Victor’s mischief, the settings had remained in place for well over a year. He’d have to ask Georgi to fix it for him later. Georgi was the least likely of his students to laugh at him for his lack of technological skill, if only for fear of how many laps his coach would make him skate if he did.

He had half a mind to just ignore the call, honestly. Victor never called unless he wanted something or had gotten himself into trouble, and Yakov was in no mood for any of that. But then…perhaps that fool boy was in serious trouble this time. Maybe he had gotten arrested for public drunkenness and indecency. Maybe his dog ate something dangerous again. Maybe _Victor_ ate something dangerous and had a near deadly case of food poisoning.

Heaving a sigh of defeat, he tapped ACCEPT CALL and held the phone to his ear. He was only going to talk long enough to confirm that nothing was disastrously wrong, that was all. No more.

“Yakov, hello! Hi! It’s Victor! How are you?”

Yakov snorted in annoyance. His student’s voice was bright and cheery, certainly not the tone of someone in any sort of terrible trouble. “What do you want, Vitya?”

“What, no greeting? No ‘how have you been, how’s life in Japan?’ I’m hurt. We haven’t talked in months and you-”

“Don’t play stupid, you never call unless you’re looking for a favor.”

“…Yakov, have I made you feel neglected? Have I not shown enough love and care for my dear old coach? I really must apologize. Please forgive your selfish student.”

“I’m going to hang up unless you cut the bullshit. I’m _tired_ , Vitya.”

“Aaah, I forgot. It’s evening in St. Petersburg, isn’t it? Long day of training? Who was your victim today? Yura?”

“No, he was at Lilia’s studio today. Georgi wanted help planning out his theme for next season.”

“Oh? Tell me he’s not doing something about his ex-girlfriend this time.”

That earned a short bark of laughter from Yakov. “No, none of that. He’s thinking of something like ‘new beginnings.’ It’s all still in the earliest planning stages.”

“Hm, that could be promising. Georgi’s not so bad on the ice, so long as he doesn’t let his focus slip.”

“I doubt you called to talk about Georgi. Is everything all right in Japan? Has your dog recovered?”

“Oh yes, Makkachin is back to his old self now!” Victor said brightly. “Hopefully he’s learned his lesson about stealing food. Really, he’s usually so well behaved! I don’t know what got into him!”

“Well behaved?” Yakov scoffed. “The one time I watched that dog for you, he destroyed a pillow and pissed on my rug.”

“He was a puppy then! You can’t hold it against him! I assure you, Makkachin is a perfect gentleman now. Except when food is involved, but we all have our vices!”

The small talk was suspiciously pleasant. This wasn’t usually how conversations with Victor went. “Did you _really_ just call to chat tonight?”

There was a slightly awkward pause. “Well…I did have one thing I wanted to ask you.”

Yakov slapped his palm against the table, nearly toppling his coffee mug again. “I _knew_ it!”

“Oh, don’t be angry!” Victor laughed, not the least bit fazed by his coach’s temper. “It’s nothing much! I just wanted to know about something from your past.”

“My past? What are you up to now, Vitya?”

Victor paused again, cleared his throat. He almost sounded nervous. Now that was a rare thing, a nervous Victor. “It’s just…I’m planning to do something I’ve never done before. And I needed some advice. And I wasn’t sure who else I could ask. So, here I am!”

“And? What’s this thing you need my advice about?”

“It’s…well, it was kind of…um. I just wanted to know…” And now he was tongue tied. Victor Nikiforov, tongue tied. Would wonders never cease.

“Spit it out, boy.”

“…How did you propose to Lilia?”

Yakov nearly choked on his tongue. “How did I WHAT.”

“Propose? To Lilia Baranovskaya? You did ask her to marry you, right? Or did she ask you? I just assumed-”

“No, I was the one who asked, but-” He broke off as the pieces abruptly came together. “This is about Katsuki, isn’t it? You’re planning to propose to Katsuki?”

“I am…very strongly considering it, yes.” For god’s sake, he could almost _hear_ a blush in Victor’s voice.

“And you decided to come to _me_ for advice? I know your memory is terrible, so let me remind you: I AM DIVORCED.”

“Yes, yes, I didn’t forget that. But you were young and in love once, right? I need to borrow your wisdom and experience on the matter. I might be experienced with love, but proposing? I'm a novice.”

Yakov rubbed at the bridge of his nose, suddenly exhausted. “Why should I help you with your ridiculous love life?”

“Because you care about me and my personal happiness? And I don’t really know many people who have been married before, and even fewer who I trust enough to talk about these things with. You’re my only hope, Yakov!”

“I’ve known you for eighteen years, and you’ve been a headache for every single one of them,” Yakov grumbled, mostly for show. It really wasn’t surprising that Victor didn’t have anyone else to talk about such a thing with.  He never did have many friends. Oh, he had hundreds upon hundreds of acquaintances, millions of fans, dozens who considered themselves his rival, thousands who would gladly hop into his bed at a moment’s notice if he only asked. But friends? A scant handful at most, and few who stayed close for more than a year or two.

And then there was Victor’s father. Yakov regretted even wasting a thought on that man now. He had been married, of course, but he was the last person Victor could consult on anything as personal as this. As far as Yakov could tell, the man hadn’t approved of a single thing Victor did since the moment he was born. Everything Victor loved, he sneered at; everything Victor excelled at, he scorned. Yakov could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Victor cry, and his father was to blame for the bulk of them. The worst had been the day when the man had decided to punish his son by throwing out his beloved skates. Years later, the thought still turned Yakov’s stomach. Victor’s father had done nothing but hold his son back and break his heart, up until the day Victor showed up on Yakov’s doorstep a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday, eyes wild as he declared he would never go back to that house, never. Victor had made many mistakes in his life, but breaking all ties with his father hadn’t been one of them.

“Well then, Yakov? Will you help me?”

Yakov shook his head, jolted back to the present by his student’s voice. He had been silent too long, lost in thought.

“Fine, you horrible pest,” he huffed, exasperated but fond beneath the bluster. “What do you need to know?”

“Just tell me how you did it. Start at the beginning, please.”

Yakov reclined in his chair, reaching his free hand to rub at his aching back. “It was a long time ago, well before you were born. We were both living in Paris in those days. Lilia was still dancing, and some great opportunities had come up for her in France. So when she left, I followed after her. My coach was against it, but I was young and madly in love. I’m sure I’ll regret telling you this, but I never listened to my old coach much.”

“And look at the pair of us!" Victor said brightly. "Achieving great things by ignoring our coaches!”

“There, I already regret it.”

“Sorry, sorry. Please continue.”

“We didn’t see much of each other during the day. She was at the dance studio studying under a renowned ballet mistress; I was at a nearby ice rink, trying to keep in top form even as I took the season off. But the nights we spent together, sometimes wandering the city for hours after the sun went down. So, I knew I had to propose to her at night. It was only fitting for us.”

“Timing is certainly important,” Victor agreed. There was a scratching sound over the line, like a pen on paper.   

“Right. Well, she was performing that night at the Paris Opera. I waited backstage for her with a bouquet of flowers-”

“What kind?”

“Roses.”

“Red?”

“Pink, she liked pink flowers.”

“How many?”

“Nine. Her lucky number.”

“Hm, a classic gesture, but with personal touches…” There was that sound again, definitely a pen on paper.

“Are you taking notes?”

“Of course I am! I need inspiration, and your story won’t do me any good if I forget the details! Now, tell me about the ring.”

“It wasn’t anything extravagant. I didn’t have much money in those days. There wasn’t even a stone, just an engraved gold band, but she…” Yakov paused, cleared his throat, “…she looked very happy when I put it on her finger.”

“I see,” Victor said quietly. “So, did you practice how you asked her beforehand? Or was it all off the cuff?”

“I practiced. Didn’t want to babble like a fool.” He could remember standing in front of the tiny mirror in his cramped apartment, the flowers in a vase on the table, his bowtie feeling too tight around his anxious throat. _Lilyusha, will you marry me?_

“And that’s all there is,” Yakov added hastily, eager to drop the subject. “We were married in five months, divorced in ten years. There’s your story, Vitya.”

“Do you miss her?” Victor asked gently.

“Of course I don’t,” Yakov huffed, “I’ve seen her almost daily all season. How could I miss her?”

“But that’s just for coaching Yura, isn’t it? Don’t you miss…what you had?”

“No,” Yakov answered flatly. “We were young and stupid and rushed into things. We didn’t know how to compromise or talk about anything but our work, and by the time we learned it was all too late. It’s over and done with, Vitya. And I’m too busy for romance these days.”

“But what about after you retire? What then?”

“Retire? Bah! I’ll never retire. I’ll work until I drop dead by the side of the rink one day, and that will be that.”

“Don’t talk like that, Yakov! Don’t you-”

“ _No_. And don’t you dare meddle in my affairs! Now, are you done bothering me for the night?”

“Ah, not quite!” Victor said cheerfully, at least allowing the last subject to drop. “I need to borrow your ear for just a bit longer. You’ve given me some ideas, and now I want to bounce my thoughts off you.”

“ _Vitya.”_

“It won’t be too long, I promise! Now, location is important, and I was thinking about taking Yuuri somewhere especially nice for the occasion. What do you think about Barcelona?”

Yakov rubbed at his forehead, trying to stave off a headache. “Barcelona is fine.”

“And I like the idea of giving him flowers too, but I’m just not sure about what kind. Some sort of Japanese flowers, maybe? Do you know of any that might work?”

“Do I look like a florist to you?” Yakov snapped, patience running out. “Why can’t you do your brainstorming on your own?”

To his mild surprise, Victor fell silent for a moment. “I’ve tried,” he said at last. “I just keep hitting a mental block.  It’s…nerves, I think.”

“Nerves?” Yakov echoed in disbelief. “I can’t recall the last time you’ve admitted to being nervous about anything. You must be terrified.”

Victor gave a short, humorless laugh. “Oh believe me, I am.”

“But why? Surely you don’t think he’s going to turn you down? Anyone can see the way that boy looks at you-”

“I know,” Victor interrupted, “it’s not that.  It’s just…I don’t know if I’m good enough for him. I don’t know if I can make him as happy as he deserves to be.”

Yakov sighed and took a drink of his now lukewarm coffee, wincing at the temperature. “Vitya, I won’t claim to know Katsuki as well as you, but from everything I’ve seen, you make him very happy.”

“But is that enough? It’s not just about today. Will I still be able to make him happy in a year? In ten? I want to make him happy, always. The happiest man in the world.” He dropped off again. Yakov could almost imagine him chewing at his lip, his old childish habit. “I don’t think I’ve ever…really been in love before. Not like this.”

“Really? After all your many dozens of flings?”

“But that’s all they were. Just flings, one night stands. I think the most serious relationship I had before this lasted…two, maybe three months? This is different. In the past, love for me was always…a selfish thing. It was about what I wanted, what felt good to me, what made me happy. And now…now I just want to make Yuuri happy. I want to be a better person for him.”

Yakov paused, gathering his thought. There was warmth in Victor’s voice that he had never heard before. “The fact that you care so much about making him happy, I’d say that’s a good sign,” he said carefully. “I don’t know if you can make him happy forever, but it sounds like you’re willing to try. I think he’s already made you a better person. Or a happier one, at least.”

Victor laughed, breathless and bright. “I _am_ happy. Happier than I can ever remember being. All the gold medals in the world can’t compare to this.”

“I can believe that,” Yakov said, allowing himself a smile. “I’ve never seen you happier, and I’ve known you since you were a pimply, snot-nosed little brat.”

Victor made a jokingly indignant noise, only half serious. “Such slanderous lies! I never had pimples, and my nose was always clean. Is your memory starting to go?”

“I distinctly recall you being covered in spots when you were twelve or so. And when I first met you, you used to wipe your nose on your sleeve. You might have never learned to blow your nose properly if I hadn’t scolded you about that.”

“Why are you dragging up ancient history now?” Victor groaned, suddenly much less amused.

“You’re the one who started this. I wonder if your beau would like to hear about some bits of your less glamorous past. Maybe he’d be interested in hearing about the time you showed up to practice with a terrible hangover and got sick all over the ice. Or,” he continued, ignoring Victor’s embarrassed noise of protest, “maybe when we were in Vienna for that gala around, oh, 2008? And you got drunk and-”

“Stop, stop!” Victor almost wailed. “You can’t tell Yuuri any of that! Not a word!”

 “I’m still amazed the hotel didn’t charge you for the repairs,” Yakov said with a grin, unable to resist a bit more teasing. “Maybe I _should_ share that story with Katsuki. He’d probably find it entertaining.”

“You cruel man, bullying your own student like this.” Victor stopped suddenly, cut off by a yawn.

Yakov frowned at the noise. “What time is it in Japan?”

“Oh, ah…just a little after two in the morning.”

“That late? Why are you still awake, you stupid boy? Go to bed!”

“I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Too much on my mind.”

“Well you certainly won’t get any sleep while you’re on the phone!”

“I know, I know,” Victor sighed, and then stopped. The silence that followed somehow felt uneasy. “Do you approve?” he asked quietly, after a moment.  “Of all of this? Of…us?”

“You’ve never cared much about my approval before,” Yakov huffed. “Why start now?”

“Ah, never mind!” Victor said. His voice was too loud, too cheerful. Something wasn’t right. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll leave you be. Goodnight, Yakov.”

Suddenly Yakov thought once more of Victor’s father, who would never have approved of anything. The man who never picked his son up from practice, never came to watch him skate even once. And then he thought of the boy, sobbing into the front of Yakov’s coat. _I’m sorry, Yakov, I’m so sorry. He threw my skates away. I tried to stop him, I really did…_

“Wait, Vitya.”

Victor said nothing, but he didn’t hang up the phone either. There was a long moment of silence.

“I didn’t expect to like Katsuki,” Yakov began awkwardly. “But he seems to be a good man. Decent head on his shoulders, when he doesn’t let his nerves get the better of him. I think I can trust him to keep you out of trouble. If he really wants to spend the rest of his life putting up with you, then yes, I approve.”

There was a slight, unsteady inhale from Victor. Yakov wondered if he had been holding his breath.

“You’re happier than I’ve ever known you to be, Vitya. Of course I approve. I’m truly happy for you. And if you can tolerant a bad tempered old man at your wedding, I…I would be honored to attend.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Victor began to laugh. If the noise was a bit watery, if his breath was a bit wobbly, Yakov pretended not to notice.

“Of course you’ll be invited,” Victor said at last, and Yakov pretended not to notice the tiny sniff he heard over the line too. “Of course. We’d be happy to have you.”

“Send me an invite then, if he says yes. Now, it’s late. Go to bed.”

“I will, I will. Thank you, Yakov. Really. Thank you.”

Yakov grunted. The warmth in Victor’s voice was making him feel entirely too soft. “Go to bed, Vitya.”

“All right. Good night! Sleep well!”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” Yakov grumbled, and hung up quickly as soon as he realized that he sounded too much like a father.  

He should have gone to bed too. It wasn’t nearly so late in St. Petersburg, but his back hurt and he was tired. But no, not yet. Instead he tapped open the internet browser on his phone. Carefully, he typed out ‘ideas for wedding presents.”


End file.
